Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) (7 page)

Every day while the bard lounged in the grass, a
zombie would work in the nearby field. He would pass by with the
tools to sow the fields and toil away every day.

The ladies would complain to the bard about the
ugly zombie trudging by. He would make too much noise, which would
drown out the bard’s guitar. He was too ugly, and they just wanted
to see the good looking bard. He worked too hard, and it made them
tired watching him.

“Come here, Zombie,” said the bard. “Rest and
listen to my music. Surely you can tend the farm later. The crops
won’t stop growing if you take a few hours off.”

But the zombie ignored him and continued with
his work.

One day, the ladies baked cakes and brought them
to the riverbank to share. The zombie was hard at work planting
seeds in the field.

“Come here, Zombie,” said the bard. “Rest and
have some cake. Surely you can tend the farm later. The crops won’t
stop growing if you eat some cake.”

But the zombie ignored him and continued with
his work.

On a particularly warm summer’s day, the ladies
changed into swimsuits and swam with the bard in the river. The
zombie continued with his work watering the plants, stopping
occasionally to wipe sweat from his brow.

“Come here, Zombie,” said the bard. “Swim with
us and cool off. Surely you can tend the farm later. The crops
won’t stop growing if you take a cool dip in the water.”

But the zombie ignored him and continued with
his work.

When fall came and the days turned cool, the
bard made a fire for the ladies to keep warm by. The zombie didn’t
have a coat, but continued to work on the farm harvesting the
crops.

“Come here, Zombie,” said the bard. “Warm up by
the fire. Surely you can tend the farm later. The crops won’t stop
growing if you warm up by the fire before you limbs freeze
off.”

But the zombie ignored him and continued with
his work.

And then winter came. The ladies stopped coming
to the riverbank because it was too cold. The bard had nowhere to
sit because the ground was covered in snow. The zombie had no more
work to do on the farm and sat in his warm house.

The bard approached the zombie’s house, which
had smoke coming out of the chimney. He knocked on the door. When
the zombie opened the door, and the bard said, “Please Zombie. I am
so hungry. Will you give me some food? I am so cold. May I come in
and warm up by your fire?”

And the zombie said, “Bard, what were you doing
when I tilled the soil for my crops?”

“I was on the riverbank, playing my guitar and
singing my songs to my adoring fans,” said the bard.

And the zombie said, “Bard, what were you doing
when I planted the seeds for my crops?”

“I was on the riverbank, playing my guitar and
singing my songs to my adoring fans,” said the bard.

And the zombie said, “Bard, what were you doing
when I watered my plants on the hot summer days?”

“I was on the riverbank, playing my guitar and
singing my songs to my adoring fans,” said the bard.

And the zombie said, “Bard, what were doing when
I harvested my crops?”

“I was on the riverbank, playing my guitar and
singing my songs to my adoring fans,” said the bard.

And the zombie said, “But Bard, who are your
adoring fans?”

“The ladies who came to the riverbank, of
course,” said the bard. “They made me cake, and started a fire for
me, and swam in the river with me.”

And the zombie said, “Where are they now?”

“It is cold,” said the bard. “They must be in
their nice warm houses.”

And the zombie said, “I’m your fan too. And I
worked when it was hot, and I worked when it was cold. Now, I offer
my fire and food for you. But only if you play me a song.”

For the rest of the winter, the bard wrote songs
just for the zombie, and the zombie kept them both warm and
fed.

(back to
TOC)

****

First Day of School

Riiiiiiiiing!

“Okay kids, everyone in their seats.”

Mrs. Dawkin’s sixth grade class eventually all
got seated back behind their desks.

“Today we’ve got a new student. Fritzgerald,
would you introduce yourself?”

A small kid with a large backpack walked to the
front of the room. He looked different from the rest of the kids.
He had short blonde hair, except over the spot where his skull was
broken and his brain was showing through. His skin had a greenish
hue, and there was some dried blood on his gray t-shirt. His jean
shorts were cut off above the knee, and his left knee was so
skinned that the bone was showing through.

“Um, hi,” he said. “My name is Fritz Mosier. We
just moved here from Wisconsin because my dad got a new job.”

“We’re happy to have you Fritz,” said Mrs.
Dawkins. “Would you take a seat in that empty desk there?”

He could feel all the eyes in the classroom on
him as he walked to his new desk. He was sitting behind a large boy
with a shaved head. The good looking boy behind him kept talking to
the girl to his right. The girl to his left was really pretty, with
curly red hair and blue eyes. She gave him a smile and a little
wave as he sat down. He waved back.

“Today we’re going to start with math.” The
teacher handed a book to the girl in the front of the row that
Fritz was sitting in. “Please pass that back.”

The girl handed the book to the girl behind her,
who handed the book to the boy in front of Fritz. The boy put the
book on his desk. Then he reached into his backpack and tossed a
book behind him. The book would’ve hit Fritz if he hadn’t put his
arm up to block it. Instead, it made a loud noise as it hit the
floor. He picked it up and put it on the desk.

It was the math book, but a very beat up version
of it. Bad words had been carved into the cover. Something had been
spilled all over the inside and the pages were wavy. He thought he
saw something that looked like dried blood on the top right
corner.

Fritz took out his notebook and started copying
down what the teacher was writing on the chalkboard. He was having
a hard time writing because the boy behind him kept kicking his
seat.

The morning passed slowly for Fritz, because the
boys in front of and behind him were doing everything they could to
keep him from concentrating. Finally, class got out for lunch.

On his way out of the classroom, the good
looking boy stuck out his foot, and the big kid with the shaved
head pushed Fritz, making him trip and fall to his knees. He landed
on his bad knee which really hurt, but Fritz tried his best not to
cry.

“What’s wrong zombie boy?” said the big kid.

“I thought zombies couldn’t cry,” said the good
looking kid in a mock whiny voice.

The big kid pointed to the blood on Fritz’s
shirt. “Hey green face, you’ve got something on your shirt.” When
Fritz looked down, the big kid flicked him in the nose.

“You better go to lunch,” said the good looking
kid. “Oh wait, I don’t think our cafeteria serves BRAINS!” The two
boys walked away laughing.

Fritz went in the restroom and hid in the stall.
He was going to stay there for all of the lunch hour, but a teacher
came in and made him leave.

He went to the cafeteria, got a carton of milk,
and sat at a table by himself. The cute girl that sat next to him
in class came over and sat across from him at the table. She was
carrying her lunch in a My Little Pony lunchbox. There was a candy
bar inside. She opened it, broke it in two, and handed half to
Fritz. “Do you want half of my candy bar?”

“I don’t have anything to trade for it,” Fritz
said.

“That’s okay,” she said, “My name is
Clarice.”

“I’m Fritz.”

“I know,” she giggled, and ate the rest her
lunch in silence.

When the bell rang to signal time to go back to
class, Fritz mumbled, “Thanks,” and started to walk down the
hall.

Clarice ran to catch up with him and grabbed his
hand. “Will you be my friend?” she asked.

“Sure, if you’ll be mine,” he said.

And hand in hand, they walked down the hall
together.

(back to
TOC)

****

On the Front Lines

It was a gorgeous day in Fredericksburg,
Virginia. The sun shown dewy and new on the crisp morning, and the
air held the promise of a warm, pleasant June day. Birdsong rang
through the town, welcoming in the early summer day.

Parents pushed strollers through Battlefield
Park, with young children following in their wake. A couple spread
a blanket out on the grass for a late morning picnic. A car drove
by with its windows down, temporarily jarring everyone with heavy
bass, but leaving behind a new appreciation for the quiet sounds of
nature.

A group of tourists was filing back aboard a bus
after their tour of the park, ready to be shuttled downtown to look
at more historical monuments. After making sure all the passengers
were seated and secure, the bus driver drove towards the center of
town.

As the bus slowed down to enter Fredericksburg
National Cemetery, a group of shuffling figures crossed the road
directly in front of the front bumper. The driver slammed on the
brakes and yanked on the wheel, narrowly missing the crowd. The
occupants of the bus screamed in surprise as gun shots rang through
the air. A zombie from the crowd, right outside the passengers’
side windows, was hit in the shoulder, blowing his arm clean off.
Another zombie, this one wearing a stained blue dress, stopped
fleeing and turned around to help her wounded friend. She picked up
the remains of his arm, hugged him, then wrapped his good arm
around her neck to help him keep moving.

“Somebody needs to help the poor man!” pleaded a
confused little girl who couldn’t have been any older than
five.

Her mother started to object to her when an
elderly gentleman interrupted. “She’s right. Come on!”

The tour guide stood in front of the doors and
announced, “Please, everyone, for your own safety, please stay on
the bus.” A middle-aged gentleman on vacation with his family moved
the guide aside and forced open the doors.

The group of tourists were following the horde
of zombies further downtown, when they heard gunshots ahead of
them. They arrived on the scene to find the zombies hiding behind
the Kirkland Monument.

“Wait, stop,” the middle aged man called out to
the men with the guns. “They need help. They aren’t hurting
anyone.”

A young lady ran around him and approached a
zombie whose back had been grazed by a bullet. She took off her
white cotton cardigan and draped it around the zombie’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” the zombie said to her in a hoarse voice.

The tour guide had caught up at the point and
stepped in front of the crowd, between the zombies and the militia.
She held her hands up to the statue. “Not here,” she demanded.
“Don’t you know what this statue stands for?”

She directed the onlookers’ eyes up to the
reclining figure on the statue. “That man on the ground is a
wounded Union soldier, one of 8,000 injured or killed in December
of 1862. It was an absolute victory for the south, and a slaughter
of soldiers from the north.”

Pointing to the top figure, she said, “That man
there, Richard Kirkland, couldn’t bear to see the suffering of the
soldiers. As the battle had already been won by the confederacy, he
took pity on the wounded soldiers on the other side of the wall
below. Armed with nothing but a canteen, leaving even a white flag
behind, he crossed the wall and began to give water to the dying
Union soldiers.”

“Even in the time of war, gentlemen, like
Kirkland, we still need to show some compassion.”

(back to
TOC)

****

Friends and Enemies

In the summer of 1942, the American
army discovered evidence of a secret German laboratory in the
Austrian Alps. American scientists spent the next 6 months
developing clothes and gear to keep their soldiers warm in the
harsh cold climate. The plan was to attack in the dead of winter,
in the middle of a snowstorm, when the Nazis would be least
expecting it. They anticipated that the opposing soldiers would be
trapped in their own laboratory.

A snowstorm was brewing in the west Alps,
building over the Swiss mountains. The allied army gathered their
troops on the south Austrian border and made the long trek through
the mountains to the north.

Fifty miles south of the purported secret base,
the troops saw a strange sight in the mountains. Hundreds of Nazi
soldiers stood on dangerous cliffs awaiting their approach. It
seemed impossible that anyone could reach those outcroppings
without falling to their certain death, but it gave the enemy
soldiers a significant advantage.

When the figures didn’t move, the approaching
soldiers wondered if they were merely statues, decoys placed there
to make it seem like the hidden base was guarded. In fact, some of
them looked deformed, with limbs askew, as if they were dummies
dropped onto the cliffs from above.

Their hopes were crushed when the figures raised
guns to their shoulders and began firing. But the snow was falling
so thickly, they couldn’t see, and very few shots reached their
mark. The troops marched onward. The gunshots continued to ring
through the air, with a regular rhythm, like a wartime
metronome.

As they got in sight of the attacking soldiers,
more of their fellow men were seriously wounded. They hid in the
snow, carefully aimed their shots, and shot the men in the rocky
hills. The lifeless bodies tumbled to the ground.

The troops set up camp and began to plan their
continued attack on the Nazi laboratory that must be just over the
next ridge. The snow stopped falling as dusk settled into the
mountains. The camp was quiet as they treated their wounded mates.
As the medics were hard at work, the men around the fire heard
moans of distress approaching the camp. Many of the seriously
wounded soldiers had been left for dead in the snow, and they
thought perhaps some had survived and were coming to the camp for
help.